


Death Valley Queen

by Aerlalaith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Case, Bickering, Camping, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Denial of Feelings, Fallen Angel Castiel, Fallen!Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Gay Panic, Lack of Communication, M/M, Matchmaker Sam, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nearly Human Castiel, Nightmares, Sam is a Saint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerlalaith/pseuds/Aerlalaith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean marched over to the rose bushes, nestled together in a circle well within the adobe shade of the anthropology building. Sam followed at a more sedate pace. When Dean’s boots toed the edge of the dry mulch, he placed his hands on his hips. “Cas,” he said flatly. “What are you doing, man?”</p><p>Castiel, on account of the fact that he lacked any sort of dignity, was less standing next to the rose garden and more crouched in the middle of it. He peered up at Dean. “I’m taking photographs of the flowers,” he said.</p><p>“Cas,” Dean said, “get out of the garden.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Valley Queen

Sam slapped down the magazine in front of him. **Mysterious Killings In Death Valley Ghost Town!** the headline proclaimed in all of its bolded glory. Dean took a sip of his coffee, then a bite of apple fritter.  
   
“Absolutely no fucking way,” said Dean.  
   
Sam’s lower lip extended a little.  
   
“No.”  
   
“Come on, Dean! Really? This could totally be a case!”  
   
“Sam,” Dean said, sucking sugar off his fingers as he spoke. “That’s not a case. That’s the Weekly World News.”  
   
Sam huffed. “We’ve gone off less than this before,” he pointed out, retrieving the magazine defensively. He shoved it back into his laptop bag, and crossed his arms.  
   
“Well, not today,” Dean said. He popped the last of the apple fritter into his mouth and chewed, loudly and obnoxiously. Sam wrinkled his nose. Dean smirked at him, taking a final gulp of his coffee as he stood up from his seat. “I’ve gotta go find Cas,” he said, “before he gets a citation from the campus police again.”  
   
Sam trailed him out of the little café, the bell on the door jangling. “Dean, I really think we should at least give this a shot. It’s only a day’s drive, anyway.”  
   
“No, Sam,” Dean said. He led them across the street towards the university, dodging two panhandlers and a dreadlocked white guy selling jewelry on the sidewalk.  Entering the grounds, they passed a fountain, a piece of what Dean was pretty sure was supposed to be modern art, and then struck out for the pond in the center of the campus—arguably the largest body of water in the city of Albuquerque.  
   
The spring sunlight slanted through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the dry earth below and the green, still water. They crossed a wooden bridge, squeezing past a family throwing bread to the ducks, and a small girl running between them at breakneck speed.  
   
As they walked, Sam carried on about how hunting a Mysterious Death Valley Monster would be well worth it to see the glory of nature perched on the backside of California, and that Lives Are At Stake Here, Dean, Come On. Or at least, that’s what Dean was pretty sure he said. He hadn’t really been listening. Regardless:  
   
“We just finished a case. I would like to get a full night’s sleep for once, you know?”  
   
“So we’ll leave tomorrow,” Sam said, totally reasonably.  
   
“No. I don’t want to go to a damn park, Sam.” As he spoke, Dean shaded his eyes with his hand, glancing around. “Where the hell is he?” he muttered. He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the screen against the glare. “He said he would meet us right here.”  
   
“There,” said Sam.  
   
Dean swiveled around to look past a tree and a gaggle of co-eds. “Where? I don’t see him.”  
   
“By the rose bushes.”  
   
Finally, Dean’s gaze zoomed in on where Sam was pointing and, spotting a familiar head of tussled black hair, he heaved a sigh. “Come on,” he said to Sam.  
   
Dean marched over to the rose bushes, nestled together in a circle well within the adobe shade of the anthropology building. Sam followed at a more sedate pace. When Dean’s boots toed the edge of the dry mulch, he placed his hands on his hips. “Cas,” he said flatly. “What are you doing, man?”  
   
Castiel, on account of the fact that he lacked any sort of dignity, was less standing next to the rose garden and more crouched in the middle of it. He peered up at Dean. “I’m taking photographs of the flowers,” he said.  
   
“Cas,” Dean said, “get out of the garden.”  
   
Castiel’s brow furrowed. “Why? This is the best vantage point.” As if to prove his statement, he lifted his (clunky, old, Dean really should get him a new one) cell phone, and snapped a picture of a half-opened rose. “The color on that one is extraordinary,” he told Dean, who covered his face with his hands.  
   
“Cas…”  
   
“We’ve got a new case,” Sam announced from behind him. Dean turned around.  
   
“No, we don't.”  
   
“A case?” Castiel finally rose to his feet and, brushing dirt off his knees, joined them on the sidewalk.  “Where?”  
   
“It is _not_ a case,” Dean said pointedly, as Sam produced the magazine like a regular Houdini, and handed it off to Castiel.  
   
“Death Valley,” said Sam, brightly.  
   
Castiel blinked at the headline, then flipped to the article, scanning it with the sort of speed only accessible to the formerly angelic. “Something supernatural could very well be at work here,” he said, voice grave. He closed it with care, and returned it to Sam. “We should investigate.”  
   
“Cas, don’t encourage him.”  
   
“See, I told you, Dean,” Sam said. He swiped a triumphant hand through his hair, shaking it out for a good measure. “Two against one.”  
   
Dean rolled his eyes. “That just makes you both crazy.”  
   
Castiel tilted his head. “You don’t wish to investigate this case? Why not?” His eyebrows did the frowny thing (Dean hated the frowny thing). “That’s very unlike you, Dean.”  
   
“Because it’s not a case!” Dean said, gesticulating towards the magazine. “That paper’s bunk, Cas. It’s all lies. There’s nothing happening in Death Valley.”  
   
“Bunk?”  
   
“Ignore him,” said Sam. He began to steer Castiel away from Dean and/or the rose garden. “He’s just bitter because he wanted to take the Breaking Bad tour and now he’s going to miss it.”  
   
Dean’s left eye twitched as he followed them back towards Central Avenue, in the general direction of the motel. “That has nothing to do with it,” he muttered, making sure to glower at a pair of giggling freshmen, and nearly tripping on a broken piece of sidewalk.  
   
“I’ve never been to Death Valley,” Castiel said. He walked more slowly now, waiting for Dean to catch up, shading his eyes to watch the mountains to the east. The late afternoon sun was starting to catch the granite near the tops, turning them red.  
   
“Not even when you were looking for God?” Sam asked, turning back to look over his shoulder.  
   
Castiel shook his head. “It seemed an unlikely place.”  
   
“Really,” Dean said sourly behind them. “Would’ve made perfect sense to me.”  
   
Castiel crossed his arms. “Thank you for that assessment, Dean,” he said.  
   
Dean regretted ever teaching him sarcasm.  
   
Ahead of them, Sam was frowning, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” he was murmuring thoughtfully to himself. Castiel’s face got even stonier, and Dean decided enough was enough.  
   
“Come on,” he said, lurching forward to grab at Sam’s arm, breaking him from his concentration. He nodded towards a storefront. “I could do with some pizza.” He glanced over at Castiel. “Pizza, Cas?”  
   
Castiel pursed his lips. “I’m not hungry.”  
   
Dean raised an eyebrow.  
   
“Liar,” he said, though there was no bite to it. Castiel looked down at his shoes. “You always get grumpier when you’re hungry. Come on.”  
   
True to Dean’s prediction, as soon as the pizza they ordered was put down in front of them, Castiel promptly inhaled two pieces of the meat side and one of the veggie, before taking a breather and then a gander at Sam’s breadsticks and marinara. The Winchester brothers watched in horrified fascination.  
   
“We should start bringing snacks for him,” Sam said in an undertone to Dean, while Castiel chomped down a thoroughly dunked breadstick. “So he won’t be, you know. So hungry.”  
   
“Like what, apple sauce and cheerios?” Dean whispered back. “He’s a grown man—sort of. He’s not gonna eat unless we’re eating.”  
   
Sam, still watching Castiel and looking slightly nauseated, said firmly, “I’ll think of something.”  
   
Dean took a slice of pizza. “So,” he deadpanned to Sam, hoping to break Castiel’s focus on the food, and maybe stop that kid from the next table over from staring. “Explain to me why we should drive eleven hours through the desert, in order to go spend more time in an even hotter desert.” He took a bite, moaning a little at the greasy goodness of it.  
   
Sam made a face at him, but wiped his fingers on a napkin and withdrew the magazine in question. “There’s a ghost town called Leadfield,” he said. “It was founded in August 1926, and everyone left by February, 1927.”  
   
Despite himself, and his full mouth, Dean whistled. “Damn.”  
   
“Why did they leave?” Castiel queried, finally looking up. Seizing his chance, Dean slid the plate out of Castiel’s immediate reach.  
   
Sam shrugged. “It was a mining boom town, but there wasn’t actually anything to mine. Add that it was in one of the least hospitable places ever…”  
   
“But no record of anyone, like, dying or anything,” Dean said, waving his half-eaten slice around as he spoke. A waitress came up and refilled his water glass, and he nodded his thanks.  
   
“No record of much of anything,” Sam said.  
   
Dean placed his elbows on the rickety wooden table. He rubbed at his eyes. “So that’s interesting and all, but why do you think that has anything to do with us?”  
   
Sam turned the page. “In the last month, one person’s died there, and another one’s gone missing.” He pointed at the article. Dean took it from him, scanning the words. He wrinkled his nose.  
   
“Sam, it says the guy who died fell off a cliff.”  
   
Sam leaned forward. “No one saw him fall. It was at night and he was discovered in the morning.”  
   
“Yeah,” Dean said. He jabbed at the paragraph in question. “And the coroner’s report said cause of death was falling off a goddamn cliff.”  
   
“What about the other one?” Castiel piped up. He was leaning back in his chair now, rubbing a little at his stomach. Dean hastily focused back on the article.  
   
“What other one?”  
   
“The man who’s missing.”  
   
Dean’s mouth twisted. “Says here he was last seen heading up that way, but no one actually saw him there. Could be anything.”  
   
Sam blinked at him, hopeful. “Could be a case.”  
   
“Could be two stupid tourists.”  
   
“Doesn’t mean it’s not a case.”  
   
“Sam.” Dean’s face was pained. “You realize if we go there, we’re going to have to camp, right? You remember the last time we went camping, don’t you? We nearly got eaten.”  
   
Castiel looked interested. Absently, he reached down for the rest of his meal, then crossed his eyes in confusion when it wasn’t there. He blinked at Dean reproachfully, who pushed it slowly back over to him, eyebrows raised the entire time. Castiel looked a little miffed as he retrieved his breadsticks, but just said, “What were you hunting?”  
   
Dean stuffed the last of his crust into his mouth. “Wendigo.”  
   
Castiel frowned. “If this _is_ a case, it seems unlikely it would be another wendigo,” he said. “There would be many more missing, otherwise. The signs would be much more obvious. Also, the area in question is very far south.” He took a much daintier, more self-conscious bite than before, wiping marinara sauce off his mouth with a napkin.  
   
“Last one was in Colorado.”  
   
“Odd,” said Castiel, looking thoughtful.  
   
“My money’s on a salt and burn,” Sam said. “Ghost town? Mysterious deaths that look like accidents?”  
   
Castiel nodded. “That seems quite possible.”  
   
Dean folded his arms. “And I think it’s nothing.”  
   
“We’ve driven days for less,” Sam reminded him. “And we wouldn’t have to hike into the campsite this time. You could even sleep in the Impala if you want.” His eyebrows drew together. “Might be kind of hard to fit three though,” he admitted.  
   
Dean rubbed at his temples. “You’ve already made reservations, haven’t you.”  
   
Sam popped a fallen red pepper into his mouth. “Yep,” he said shamelessly.  
   
Castiel glanced uncertainly from one Winchester to the other. “Does this mean we’re going?”  
   
“Apparently so,” Dean muttered. He got up from the table, reaching into his wallet and throwing down a twenty. After another peek at the bill, he added some ones to cover the tip.  
   
“Oh, and Dean,” Sam said, rising as well. “I’m going to need the car for the rest of the afternoon.”  
   
“What the hell for?” Dean asked. He opened the door to let Castiel through.  
   
“We’re going to need a tent,” Sam said, deliberately nonchalant, and also fiddling with the edge of his jacket. “Camping gear, you know.”  
   
Dean gave him a hard stare. “This had better not be an attempt to buy that fancy shit from REI.”  
   
Sam looked a little crestfallen. He rubbed the back of his neck. “No,” he grumbled, as Dean’s eyes narrowed further before he finally slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys.  
   
“I’m trusting you not to go overboard with this, Sammy,” he said, holding out the keys to the Impala, which was parked on a side street just down another block or so. “We’re not going camping so we can sit in a circle around a fire and sing kumbaya.”  
   
Sam snatched the key ring from his hand. “Shut up, Dean,” he said, starting to walk. “I’ve got this.”  
   
“And buy beer!” Dean hollered after him. Dean turned to Castiel. “That kid’s going to come back with granola bars and nothing else,” he predicted.  
   
Castiel shrugged. “I like granola bars.”  
   
Dean raised his eyes heavenwards. “Yeah, I know you do.”  
   
   
                                                                                                         #  
   
   
“Well,” said Sam. He closed the guidebook he had picked up one Love’s and two Flying J’s ago, and peered out the window. Down the side of the precariously built winding road, he could see a long dusty valley stretching out to the west, before it was abruptly truncated by another ridge of jagged brown peaks. “I can really see why it’s called Basin and Range.”  
   
“You’re fucking telling me,” Dean grunted. Sweat rolled down the side of his neck, and he gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers. “I’m the one who’s been driving in second for the past however-the-hell-long.”  
   
“We’re almost to the bottom,” Castiel announced from the back. He passed the bag of pepper flavored beef jerky up to Sam. “Here.”  
   
“This place is in the middle of fucking nowhere,” Dean grumbled, while Sam held out a piece of jerky for him.  
   
“It’s a National Park,” Sam reminded him.  
   
“Doesn’t that mean we have to pay to get in?”  
   
“It’s not too much,” Sam said vaguely. Dean rolled his eyes in response.  
   
In the back, Castiel shifted. He had ditched the trench coat and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down in honor of the heat. He now sat fanning himself with a copy of a September issue of Busty Asian Beauties he had found under the seat. “Why would you have to pay to go into a park?” he queried. “Isn’t it free?”  
   
“This is America, Cas,” Dean said, heaving a sigh of relief as the ground flattened out. He shifted gears, silently praising the Imapala for not dumping them off the side of the mountain. “Nothing’s free.”  
   
Sam’s lips twisted. “Such a cynic.”  
   
“Shut up.”  
   
The rest of the drive was fairly quiet. Sam tried to get the radio to play, but when all that came up was static, he was forced to concede to Dean’s smug smile and the soft click of a tape sliding in.  
   
Every once in a while, Dean would glance into the rearview mirror and catch a glimpse of Castiel, leaning against the side of the door, hands folded under his chin as he stared out the window. They had long since given up rolled down windows and hot desert air in favor of the Impala’s air conditioning, but Castiel’s hair still looked wind-swept, his eyes blinking languidly as he took in the scenery.  
   
There wasn’t much to look at, aside from rocks and scrub-brush. Still, a tiny part of Dean wondered what Castiel thought of it all, this grand wasteland, and if maybe, once upon a time, he would have thought something completely different.  
   
About a half hour outside the park, they turned left down another road, passing what was probably the only gas station in the entire county. By the time they had actually entered the park itself, the sun was beginning to set and Dean was less than pleased to discover that despite the fact that they had technically gotten there, the actual campground was another forty minutes.  
   
“If this isn’t an actual case, you’re going to owe me for _life_ ,” Dean said conversationally, as he steered the Impala through another set of curves to trail behind an RV moving ten miles below the posted speed limit. “I’m serious, Sammy.”  
   
“Okay,” Sam said absently, eyes once again glued to the guidebook.  
   
“Are you even listening to me?” Dean complained. He jerked the steering wheel and floored it once the double yellow lines on the asphalt turned into little dashes. The RV was soon nothing more than a trundling dot behind them.  
   
“Uh huh.” Sam turned a page.  
   
“Cas,” Dean whined. “I could use some support here.”  
   
No answer. Dean peeked into the rearview mirror, then chanced a look behind him. Castiel sat slumped against the side door, his head crooked at an unusual angle against the window, his eyes shut.  
   
“Lucky bastard,” Dean commented, turning back to the road.  
   
“He asleep?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Oh.”  
   
There was a pause. Sam took in a breath.  
   
“Has he not been, you know— Lately?”  
   
Dean kept his eyes fixed on the road. “You know he asked me not to talk about it.”  
   
Sam exhaled. “Yeah, I know. I’m just.” He looked away. “Going from all powerful being to just a, a normal guy. He hasn’t really said—”  
   
“Cas isn’t normal, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “And he’s never going to be _normal_. He’s Cas.” He slowed the car down as they approached a signpost. “The least we can do is give him his space so he can figure that out.”  
   
“Yeah, I get that.” Sam pointed at the sign. “We’re going to Furnace Creek, by the way.” He sat back as Dean slowly turned down a new road. “But he _is_ human now.” He grimaced. “Well, mostly,” he amended.  He chanced a glance at Dean. “And you’re right he does need his space, but Dean. He doesn’t need it _all the time_.”  
   
“Yeah,” said Dean. “Okay.” He spotted the Visitor Center. “You can try telling him that the next time he has a nightmare and won’t fucking tell me what’s wrong.”  
   
“That’s not my job,” Sam said severely.  
   
Dean gave him a look. “Oh yeah, and since when the hell is it _mine_ , huh?”  
   
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Are you really asking me that?”  
   
Dean pressed his lips together, then his shoulders slumped and he turned away.  
   
“Look,” Sam said, more gently this time. “I’m his friend. But you’re—” he waved his hand for a moment, trying to find the right words. “You’ve got this— this profound _thing_ between you two, whatever it is—”  
   
“All right, Sammy,” Dean said. “You can stop now. I get it.”  
   
“No, Dean.” Sam said. “I really don’t think I can until you _do_ get it.”  
   
“I will stop this car and leave you on the side of the road for the rattlesnakes.”  
   
“Dean,” Sam barked, though softly, mindful of Castiel sleeping in the back seat. Dean jerked a little in surprise. “Would you just shut up for a minute and listen to me?” He rubbed at his forehead, taking his brother’s sudden silence for the nearest thing to agreement that he was going to get. He took a deep breath. “He needs you, Dean,” Sam said finally. “And not to like, _babysit_ him or whatever the hell you’ve been doing, but to be, I don’t know, _support_ or something.”  
   
“Sam—”  
   
“And he’s not going to admit it, Dean, but you have to do it. Even though he’s never going to ask. You have to do it for him.”  
   
“I’m trying!” Dean burst out.  
   
In the back of the car, Castiel shifted and muttered something. Both brothers froze, then relaxed as he let out a small snore.  
   
“I’m trying,” Dean said, more quietly this time. He put up his hand. “No, Sam. You know, I get it. I am trying to help him but I just.” He shook his head, slowing the car and making a left into the parking lot. “I don’t know how,” he said to the steering wheel. He put the car in park, turning off the ignition. “And he won’t tell me.”  
   
Sam stared at him. “Dean,” he said tentatively.  
   
Dean turned around in his seat. “Hey, Cas,” he said, voice suddenly full of cheer. “We made it. Wake the hell up.”  
   
Castiel grumbled something that might have been a “fuck you.”  
   
“Seriously, dude,” Dean said. He reached behind him and slapped Castiel’s shoulder. “Up and at ‘em.” Castiel jolted.  
   
“I’m awake,” he groaned.  
   
“Sleep well?” Sam got out of the car, stretching. Castiel blinked at him balefully.  
   
“Until I was woken up.”  
   
“Come on,” Dean said, shoving his own door open. He wrinkled his nose as a veritable tsunami of hot evening air blew into the chill of the car. “I’ve got to piss like a racehorse.”  
   
At the mention of a bathroom, Castiel perked up enough to drag himself out.  
   
“Is this place even open?” Dean wondered, as they wandered up the path to the visitor center. Sam, who was a little ways ahead of him, stopped to read a sign on the window.  
   
“Says it closes at five,” he reported. He pointed across the way. “Bathrooms are still open, though.”  
   
“Excellent,” Castiel said grimly, making an abrupt about face and marching in the direction Sam was indicating. “I will never get used to the human need to urinate,” Dean heard him muttering as he passed. Dean shook his head.  
   
After getting back into the car to drive a few more minutes down to the area reserved for the tents only, they found their campsite with the last of the daylight. As soon as they had parked, Sam clambered out of the car and headed for the back. Dean meanwhile, got out more slowly. His eyes followed as Sam hastily popped the trunk and lunged for the camping equipment. As Castiel slowly unfolded himself from the confines of the back seat, Dean leaned back against the side of Impala to watch the fun.  
   
Ten minutes later, with Sam pushing sweaty bangs out of his eyes, and glaring at Dean whenever he snickered, Dean decided, out of the goodness of his heart, to lend a hand.  
   
“I’m not an idiot, Dean,” Sam said acidly as he approached. “I know how to pitch a tent.”  
   
“Yes,” Dean told him solemnly. “You are certainly doing a bang-up job of it.” He hoisted a pole.  
   
“You’re not helpful.”  
   
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Castiel said. While Sam had being playing at Boy Scouts, Castiel had wandered off to, “Explore the campsite, Dean, _someone_ has to find the water spigot and the toilets.” He did not appear to be amused to return to a campsite that looked just about the way it had when he had left. He snatched the pole out of Dean’s hands, and began to click the pieces together. Then, he rotated the canvas of the tent to find the right hole, and slowly fed the pole through. Within minutes, he had the tent assembled, complete with the rain fly and the little porch flap. “There,” he said darkly, dusting off his knees.  
   
Sam and Dean stared at him, mouths open.  
   
“Dude,” Dean said. “Where the hell did you learn that?”  
   
“It’s really not that difficult, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was oddly flat. “I would bet even a human child could do it.”  
   
Dean blinked at him.  
   
“Uh,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “Thanks, Cas.”  
   
Castiel inclined his head. “You’re welcome.” He brushed past Dean to head towards the trunk of the Impala. “I presume you brought sleeping bags?”  
   
Sam coughed something. Dean caught the tail end of it.  
   
“What was that, Sam?” he said dangerously.  
   
“Sleeping bags are very expensive,” Sam commented. He pulled two of them out of the trunk, and tossed one to Dean. Dean caught it on reflex, bracing himself for the next one. When it didn’t come, he glanced at Castiel. “Dude,” he said. “There are three of us. Can’t you count?”  
   
“That one’s a double,” Sam said. He shut the trunk. “Someone’s going to have to share.” He tucked the sleeping bag he still held under his left arm. “This one’s mine,” he added, unnecessarily.  
   
Dean gaped. “Excuse me?” he said. “What the hell, Sam?”  
   
Sam shrugged. “I thought you’d prefer it.”  
   
“You thought _what_?” Dean sputtered. “Why?”  
   
Sam frowned at him. “You and Cas share a bed all the time.”  
   
“What—we— _what_.”  
   
“You’re not exactly subtle, Dean.” Sam narrowed his eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”  
   
“Sam,” Dean said. “Sharing a bed in a motel room with three people and two queen beds is not the same thing as sharing a fucking sleeping bag. You’re a fucking moron.”  
   
Sam shrugged, nonchalant. “My bad,” he said. But Dean could see the gleam in his eye. He fumed. “It’s only for a couple of nights.”  
   
“Sam,” Dean bit out. “Hand over the other sleeping bag.”  
   
“No way,” Sam said, backing up a little. “I paid for this.”  
   
“That one’s for Cas,” Dean said. He took a threatening step forward.  
   
“Don’t be such a baby,” Sam said. “It’s not a big deal.”  
   
Dean stalked closer. “You’re not the one who has to share.”  
   
“Oh no,” Sam deadpanned. “Sharing.”  
   
“Give it.”  
   
“No, Dean.”  
   
“Sammy, I will take that sleeping bag by force if I have to.”  
   
Sam stuck out his chin. “Really,” he said. “I’d like to see you try.”  
   
“You little bitch,” Dean breathed, and tackled him into the dirt.  
   
The next few moments were a blur of dusty tussle. Dean was pretty sure he got Sam a good one in the ribs, though now Sam had a nice grip around his torso. The next thing he knew however, they were being forced apart by unnaturally strong hands.  
   
“Enough!” said Castiel. He gave them both a shove for a good measure. Sam wobbled. Dean toppled over.  
   
“Cas?” Dean said, blinking up at him. There was dirt on his eyelashes.  
   
Castiel’s jaw worked. He breathed harshly through his nose as he glowered down at Dean. Dean felt a strange urge to sink even lower to the ground than he already was. Without meaning to, he held his breath.  
   
Castiel straightened his shirt with quick, jerky motions. “I’m going for a walk,” he said shortly, and strode off into the gathering dusk.  
   
Dean stared after him.  
   
“Way to go, Dean,” Sam said, scooting up next to him. He clapped Dean on the shoulder.  
   
Dean slowly got to his feet, swatting away the sand and dust on his jeans. “What the hell’s his problem?” he said, watching Castiel’s stiff-backed form disappear behind a copse of juniper bushes.  
   
Sam gave him a sideways glance. “Are you serious?”  
   
Dean turned to him. “No, Sam. I’m joking.” He shook his head. “Of course I’m fucking serious. What the hell, man?”  
   
“Dude, I think you hurt his feelings.”  
   
“What?” Dean said. He made a face. “No, I didn’t hurt his _feelings_. Over what? Cas doesn’t…” he trailed off, realizing.  
   
“Yeah, you’re an ass,” Sam said.  
   
Dean glared at him. The glare slowly turned into a frown. “Damn it, Cas,” he muttered.  
   
Sam picked up the forgotten sleeping bag. He smacked dirt off of it with the flat of his palm. “You’re a terrible boyfriend,” he informed him, heading back over the Impala.  
   
Immediately, Dean bristled. “What? Sam, we’re not—” he brought his hand to his head, voice pitching a little higher. “We’re not _boyfriends_. For god’s sake, where the hell did you even come up with that crap?”  
   
“Dean,” Sam scoffed, tucking the sleeping bag under his arm, “you fit the bill in every way _except_ for the sex thing.” He watched as Dean blanched white under his freckles. “And even that I’m not so sure about. You’re practically attached at the hip. You sleep in the same bed, make sure he eats, and even give him massages when his back hurts. Jesus Christ. What else should I call it?”  
   
Dean was silent. He scuffed his boot in the dirt. Sam softened his voice.  
   
“Man,” he said. “I’m just calling it like I see it.”  
   
“Maybe you’re seeing it wrong.”  
   
Sam sighed. “Maybe I am,” he said. “But, Dean.” And here he put his hand lightly on Dean’s shoulder. “Maybe you’ve just got to, I don’t know. Stop thinking about what you _think_ you should be doing and just, I mean.” He shrugged. “You can’t pretend it’s nothing.”  
   
Dean scratched his head, looking away. “You done now, Dr. Phil?”  
   
Sam ground his teeth a little. “Dean, you can’t tell me that if Cas magically got his mojo back and flew off tomorrow, that you’d just be okay.”  
   
“Of course I wouldn’t be okay,” Dean snapped at him. “He’s my friend! But that doesn’t mean—”  
   
“Yeah, if by _friend_ you literally mean the most important person in the world to you after your own brother,” Sam cut him off. “If he’d ended up in, I don’t know, Anna’s body instead of Jimmy’s, do you think we’d even be having this conversation?” Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam barreled on. “Are you really going to try and tell me that you don’t care about him? That you don’t love him?”  
   
Dean froze. “I,” he said, glancing down at the ground. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not _gay_ , Sam.”  
   
“Well,” Sam said, trying to shove some lightness into his tone. He wasn’t very successful. “That’s fine, because Cas is technically a wave a celestial intent or something anyway.”  
   
Dean stared at him. “You’re really not helping,” he said finally.  
   
Sam grimaced. “Just go talk to him, dude,” he said. “Maybe he’s not gay either and just wants to be, I don’t know, your platonic life partner or something. But you can’t tell me there’s nothing at all between you.” Sam rubbed at his temples. “Just go, ugh. Hug it out or whatever. Do your thing.”  
   
Dean was quiet for a long moment, studying the ground. And then finally, to Sam’s complete and utter surprise, he said, “Yeah. Okay.”  
   
Sam stood stock-still. “Wait, what?”  
   
“Okay,” Dean repeated, irritably. He tugged on his jacket. “I’ll go—I’ll go talk to him.”  
   
“Uh,” Sam said. He blinked. “Cristo,” he tried. Dean made a face.  
   
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”  
   
“What?” Sam said. “No, nothing. My bad.” He held up his hands, inching away towards the tent. “I’ll just be, uh, setting up my sleeping bag. You go, uh. You go talk to Cas.”  
   
Dean eyed him suspiciously. “You sure?”  
   
“Oh yeah, yeah,” Sam said. He felt behind him for the tent flap. “See you later. Good, uh, good luck.”  
   
Dean snorted. But after another few seconds of watching Sam paw at the tent, he turned on his heel and headed in the direction Castiel had gone. Sam watched him leave, shaking his head.  
   
“My brother,” he announced to whatever happened to be listening. Bats, maybe. “Ladies and Gentlemen.”  
   
   
                                                                                                         #  
   
   
Despite everything that had happened between Castiel pulling Dean’s ass out of hell, and where they were now, some things remained the same. Chief among them: Castiel was a difficult guy to find when he didn’t want to be.  
   
After trooping twice around the tent sites with only the light of a few campfires and the occasional, misplaced beam from a headlamp, Dean figured that Castiel must have been pissed enough to go off a bit further afield. Dean took a gravel path past the bathrooms, and wandered through the lanes of RVs, marveling a little at the expanse of some of the bigger ones.  
   
He asked an older couple, lounging in camping chairs on top of what looked like fake grass, if they’d seen a guy—yay tall (Dean indicated), messy hair (Dean tugged at his). The man, wearing a violently colored Hawaiian shirt over a stained wife-beater, shrugged at him, but the woman nodded.  
   
“Might have,” she said, lips pursed in thought. She pointed at the wind chime hanging off the side of the RV. Its center was an unholy combination between an anthropomorphic sunflower and the actual sun (Dean kind of wanted to salt and burn the thing on principle), and around it, a set of fat, painted bumblebees twirled lazily in the evening breeze. “A man like that stopped to compliment my wind chime. Think that might’ve been who you’re looking for?”  
   
Dean eyed the bees. “Oh yeah,” he said. “That was definitely him.”  
   
“Well,” said the woman. She pulled self-consciously at her dress, smoothing it. “I think he went that way.” She indicated away from the RVs, in the direction of the General Store. “Don’t you think, Stu?”  
   
Stu grunted.  
   
Dean nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He turned away from the campsite, and took the other path.  
   
Dean finally found Castiel in a grove of date trees. He was sitting cross-legged a few feet away from one of the trunks, hunched over with his back towards Dean. As Dean approached however, Castiel straightened.  
   
“Hello, Dean,” he said. Dean stilled, then with a mental kick to the shins, walked up to him the rest of the way. He settled himself with a groan.  
   
“Hey, Cas,” he said quietly, not even bothering to ask how Castiel had known it was him.  
   
They sat quietly for a while, letting the remnants of the evening sink down around them. A bug chirped.  
   
Dean coughed. “So uh, what’s the word?”  
   
“I don’t know,” Castiel said. He unfolded his legs, stretching them out in front of him as he gazed up at the night sky. “I can no longer hear it.”  
   
Ouch. Dean winced. “Were you planning to spend the night out here, or what?”  
   
“I was considering it,” Castiel agreed, still looking up at the sky.  
   
“Wait, seriously?” Dean tried for humor, but it fell flat. “Why?”  
   
Finally, Castiel turned to him. In the dark, his eyes were almost black. In even tones he said, “You made your feelings about sharing space with me quite clear.”  
   
Dean could feel a headache coming on. “No, Cas,” he said. He rubbed at his forehead. “Dude, that’s not what I meant. I just thought—”  
   
“I may be a burden, Dean, but I’m not a child,” Castiel snapped suddenly. “I wish you would cease treating me like one.” He stood. “Your words were quite clear,” he said again, icily. He turned on his heel, marching down the path. After a split second of frozen disbelief, Dean’s body caught up with his brain. He gave chase.  
   
“Wait! Cas, would you just—would you hold up for a second? Jesus.” Dean managed to snag the back of his shirt. Castiel wrenched out of his grip, and Dean stumbled backwards. His heel caught on an exposed root, and he went down hard.  
   
Castiel turned around immediately, a myriad of expressions crossing his face, but concern chief among them. He knelt down next to Dean, fingers twitching a little above him, but not touching. “Dean?”  
   
“Ow,” Dean groaned. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his back. Castiel stuck out his hand. “I think that was my tailbone.” He took the proffered hand, and got to his feet. “Dude, you are still really, really strong.”  
   
Assured of Dean’s continued well-being, Castiel shuffled back. “A side effect,” he said, dropping Dean’s hand. “It will fade eventually.”  
   
“Yeah, well.” Dean mumbled something.  
   
“What?”  
   
“Look, I’m sorry,” Dean said louder. He flushed as Castiel turned his full attention on him, arms crossed. “I—Sam was being a jerk and I—”  
   
“ _You_ were being a jerk,” Castiel said severely. He began to move away again. Dean grabbed at his sleeve, grimacing at the twinge in his back.  
   
“Okay, fine. Yes. I was acting like an ass, like I usually do. And I didn’t. I just…” he fumbled. “And you’re not a goddamn burden, Cas. Why the hell would you even think that?”  
   
Castiel looked down. “I heard you and Sam in the car,” he said. “And I know—no, Dean. Would you listen to me? I’m not _useful_ anymore, Dean. I’m not an angel, I can’t—being human is so senseless!” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “And you don’t make any sense either,” he added, voice strained.  
   
“What,” Dean laughed weakly. “What are you talking about? I make perfect sense.”  
   
Castiel scowled at him pointedly. Dean scratched the back of his neck.  
   
“Okay,” he said. “I get it. My bad about the sleeping bag thing. I just thought you would have wanted your own space, you know?” His tone turned defensive as Castiel continued to glare. “I was trying not to hover, all right? I know you don’t like it.”  
   
“You could have asked,” Castiel said, stiff as a board. “You never ask me what I want, Dean. You always just assume.”  
   
 “And _you_ could have told me what was wrong!”  
   
“Oh? And when would I have done that?” Castiel pushed his way into his space, and jut out his chin, eyes flashing. “While you were busy engaging in fisticuffs with your brother, maybe?”  
   
Dean’s expression darkened. “How about when you wake me up at night screaming? Maybe that would’ve been a good time, huh? It’s not like I can read your damn mind, Cas!”  
   
Castiel flinched back, face paling.  
   
Dean immediately felt terrible, and braced himself as Castiel ground out, “Well, it’s difficult to tell when you seem to be highly allergic to discussing how I feel.” His jaw worked, his voice rising in pitch. “You’re always pretending that everything is as it was. It’s not, Dean. And no matter how much you joke about it, it’s never going to be!” There was a heavy pause. Castiel blew air out from between his cheeks. “ _I’m_ never going to be.”  
   
Dean shut his eyes.  
   
Castiel shook his head. “I’m not a hammer, Dean,” he continued into the silence. His voice was subdued now, the anger drained from it. “I never was. And you…”  
   
“Yeah, I know,” Dean forced out. “I’m terrible. I’m just making it worse for you.”  
   
“You are not terrible, Dean,” Castiel said sharply. “Don’t say that. Don’t make this about that.” He sagged against the sharp, papery bark of one of the date trees, arms folded. “This isn’t about blaming you, or me,” he said, almost at a whisper. “I’m not trying to make you the enemy. This is about what is.”  
   
Dean nodded. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, and leaned against the tree as well.  
   
For what felt like a long time, even if it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, neither of them spoke. Dean chewed on his lower lip, imagining and re-imagining what the hell he was supposed to say, but still coming up with nothing. He heard Castiel run his hands along the bark of the tree. He thought about those hands, how they had built him back up from rot, the shape of them soothing on his cuts and his bruises. He thought about the coolness of them, even now that he was almost human, the gentle slide of them against Dean’s shoulder. Dean breathed out.  
   
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry.”  
   
Castiel snorted. “For what?”  
   
“Don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “Everything, I guess.”  
   
“Everything.” Castiel huffed out a laugh, glancing up at the sky again. “That’s a lot.”  
   
“Family will do that to you.”  
   
There was the barest twitch of a smile at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “I’ve noticed that,” he said wryly.  
   
Dean felt his heart speed up at the admission. He twisted his fingers around and around in the fabric of his shirt. “I uh, don’t mind sharing with you,” he said, suddenly bold. “Never did, really.” Internally, he cringed, but added, trying to sound offhand. “And uh, probably wouldn’t ever. You know. In the future.” He pushed away from the tree.  
   
Castiel slowly rotated to meet his gaze. His face was still. Dean tried to look away but found that he couldn’t. Castiel studied him for a long moment. Finally he said, voice solemn, “I will endeavor to properly express myself to you.” He glanced down and away, then back at Dean, tilting his head. That flicker of a smile reappeared. “You know. In the future.”  
   
“Oh,” said Dean. His legs felt strangely weak. “Okay.” He watched as if rooted to the ground as Castiel drifted closer to him. “You, uh. You mean that?”  
   
Castiel gave him a reproachful look, like Cas was dealing with basic arithmetic, here, and Dean was over there trying to write a proof for it. “Of course.”  
   
“Oh,” Dean said again. He bit his lip, once again realizing that Castiel was thoroughly inside his personal space. Castiel raised an expectant eyebrow.  
   
After another pause, hands shaking only a little, Dean drew Castiel towards him, enfolding him in a hesitant embrace. Castiel leaned into it, though it was clear that he wasn’t entirely certain how this was supposed to go. Feeling a little better at that, Dean rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder.  
   
“Do you really think there’s a ghost here?”  
   
“Mmm,” Castiel mumbled. He was still a little tense, Dean could tell. But he was trying. Dean appreciated that. “No.”  
   
“No?” Dean frowned. “Why the hell did you say there was, then?”  
   
Castiel shifted a little, his hand creeping up to grasp at Dean’s wrist. “I was irritated with you,” he admitted. He lifted one shoulder. “And I wanted to come see the park.”  
   
Dean snickered, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a little shit sometimes, you know that?”  
   
“I learned from the best,” Castiel returned dryly.  
   
“Who, Sammy?” Dean yelped as Castiel drove an elbow into his stomach. “Okay, okay. Just kidding. Jesus.” He let go, straightening his shirt, feeling a little self-conscious. When Sam had meant for them to hug it out, he probably hadn’t meant literally, Dean thought.  
   
Castiel was brushing stray bits of tree bark off his back. “We should return to the campsite,” he said. “We’ll still have to visit the town tomorrow morning to make sure.”  
   
“Sam’s gonna want to stop at all the stops and buy a stupid touristy hat,” Dean predicted, falling into step with Castiel. They bumped shoulders. “Hell, he’ll probably try and buy one for you too.”  
   
“His money would be better spent acquiring one for you,” Castiel informed him, much to Dean’s alarm. “I noticed that Sam neglected to pack sunscreen.”  
   
“It’s not _that_ hot,” Dean argued. The gravel of the RV park began to crunch underfoot. “It’s still spring.”  
   
“UV rays can be damaging no matter the season,” Castiel said sternly. “We’ll have to acquire some at the visitor center.” They turned a corner, Castiel waving at the couple Dean had asked directions from earlier. Dean pushed on.  
   
“You don’t really want to see all the tourist spots, do you?”  
   
“Of course I do,” Castiel said. “Why wouldn’t I?”  
   
“Uh, because I’ve _literally_ been to hell and I don’t know about you, but some place called the Devil’s Golf Course really doesn’t appeal after that.”  
   
“It’s just a name.” Castiel stopped abruptly, and Dean almost ran into him. Castiel turned around to face him. “I’m particularly interested in the views available at Father Crowley Point.”  
   
“You’re kidding,” Dean said faintly. “There is _not_ a Father Crowley Point.”  
   
Castiel grinned at him, as sudden as it was unexpected, all crinkled eyes and too-wide smile. He reached down, grabbing for Dean’s hand, and squeezed it. Dean swallowed. “I’m not kidding,” Castiel said. He began to let Dean’s hand slip away, but Dean tightened his grip.  
   
“Well, I hope Crowley’s never hears about it,” he said gruffly, as Castiel’s expression went from surprised to something dangerously close to fond. “His head’s big enough already.”  
   
“I won’t tell him,” Castiel promised, very seriously. “Dean—”  
   
“Oh, look.” Dean nodded behind him. “There’s our campsite.”  
   
“Dean.”  
   
“I see Sam didn’t do anything about dinner. I thought I raised him better than that, you know? I really thought I did—”  
   
Castiel kissed him. Light, but definitely on the lips. No mistaking that. There was stubble, Dean realized through what might have been shock. It was scratchy.  
   
“Uh,” he said.  
   
Castiel cocked his head. “Come on,” he said. He tugged at their joined hands, but Dean was having trouble convincing his legs to be legs. Castiel sighed. “Sam’s probably worried,” he said. He tugged again.  
   
That time, Dean followed.  
 


End file.
